Every August, I become a woman who believes in systems. Not casual systems. Not “we should probably put backpacks near the door” systems. I mean laminated-label, matching-bin, healthy-lunch, dinner-is-already-planned systems. I become a person who thinks, “This is the year we rise before the sun like calm woodland creatures and glide into the school year with chia pudding and emotional regulation.” For a few glorious weeks, I am magnificent. Lunches contain fruit. Dinner is n
Cherry Grove Beach, SC, circa 1950 Would you fork over a small fortune for a slice of your family’s history? Even if that slice looks like it hasn’t seen an update since the Eisenhower administration? The asking price is a jaw-dropping $950K. Now, would that price tag make you reconsider if that piece of history was just a hop, skip, and a jump from the ocean? I know I would (if I could). After all, I’m married to a handyman who’s too busy saving the world—one paying customer
Do you ever feel like you’re drowning in stuff — like the house is personally gaslighting you? Because same. I’m a 51‑year‑old, ADHD, perimenopausal woman just trying to survive the daily chaos without retreating to my bedroom and waiting for the mythical House Organizing Fairy Godmother to swoop in and rescue my overstimulated brain. And don’t even get me started on the kitchen. We have all lived in this house the exact same number of years, and yet I am still the only human
Hi, I’m the Handyman’s Wife: big ideas, small budget, and a calendar that laughs at me daily. By day, I lead a software development team; off the clock, I’m a wife and mom—plus staff to one very spoiled dog and a few self-righteous cats.
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